


Prisoner's Dilemma

by rapacityinblue



Category: Fushigi Yuugi
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapacityinblue/pseuds/rapacityinblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Set in a world where Miaka and Yui never appeared to fulfill their destinies as priestesses, Kutou and Kounan are locked in a seemingly endless war. Peace has begun to seem like an impossibility when the Emperor of Kounan is faced with a difficult choice that could spare his people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prisoner's Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inner Voice (inner_v0ice)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inner_v0ice/gifts).



Sunrise was Suzaku's time.

For years, Hotohori had studied the great works, preparing himself for the day when he would be called as a warrior of Suzaku. He had learned, in his studies, that everything moved in a cycle. Everything had its time. Each of the seasons followed the next, as each of the gods shone from the sky. Men aged and died. Their bodies went to the earth, and their souls returned to the world in new forms. The sun died with the night and was reborn again, like the phoenix. Sunrise was Suzaku's time.

He stood, his feet bare against the cool stone of the cell. He wondered if it would ever truly be Suzaku's time. Kounan's time. As a child it had been so easy to have faith. He'd believed unquestioningly in the grace of Suzaku. He'd believed that his priestess would appear, a girl from another world, when his country needed her the most. He'd believed she would save him, and save all of them.

But the war threatened from the east. Their armies clashed along the border, more desperate every week. Village after village fell to Kutou's forces, and while he mourned the loss of each man, he waited for the priestess to appear. He waited, and waited, as death spread through his country like a plague.

He'd thought there was hope, finally, when the messenger arrived. Kutou's emperor wanted to discuss a treaty. It was a trap, that was obvious now. As they said, one always saw the past with more clarity than the future.

His advisors were gone. His guard, murdered before him. He watched it all, helpless and bound. He was not a weakling. Put a sword in his hand and he could best any man, but they must have known of his skill. The Kutou guard, disguised as bandits, had swarmed down on them from the hills, and before he could reach for a weapon, he found himself caught and bound, dragged from his litter and forced to kneel.

That had been two weeks ago, the last time he saw a human soul. They drugged him then, and when he woke, he found himself in this cell. It was bare, stone floor and walls, exactly fifteen paces along each wall. He had measured it carefully. There was nothing else to do.

He had two points of contact to the outside world; the first, a flap at the base of the cell door. Food came through it twice a day, pushed by a guard he never saw in full -- just his hand, nudging a meal through at morning and evening. The other was the window, set high in the south wall. South, where Suzaku appeared in the sky.

He looked through the window every night, but it was the wrong season to see the phoenix constellation as it passed over the horizon. The sky was filled with unfamiliar stars, and the only warmth left in his world was the bright red of the sky at sunrise.

He lost track of the days, until finally, for the first time, he heard the door swing on its hinges. He couldn't say how long it had been. It wasn't that he had lost his senses, but the monotony of each day bled into the next. Even the sunrises had become the same.

Still, whether it was a day or a month later, the door did open. Hotohori had taken to meditation to fill his empty hours. He had no books to read, but that was no reason to allow his brain to atrophy. Although the gentle creak was a sound he'd heard only once before, when they'd shoved him in here and left him to rot, he recognized it instantly. He opened his eyes, though he did not rise from his seat on the floor, and looked to the door.

What he'd expected to see, he couldn't say. Perhaps another of the Kutou goons who had abducted him. They were all of a type; large, brawny through the chest, but more likely to run to fat than to muscle. There was no art to their swordplay. They relied on brute strength to carry the day.

The sight that greeted him, however, was anything but his expectation. The man who entered (he had to stoop to make his way through the doorway) was broad, yes, but his build said he'd worked for his body. He had the arms of a swordsman, Hotohori saw instantly, but the breadth of shoulder one found in a wrestler. His face was as well formed as the rest to him -- a strong jaw and brow, a straight nose, with full lips. But what truly struck Hotohori was the man's eyes. They were a piercing blue, quite unlike anything he'd ever seen.

The warrior reached up, unbuckling the clasp on his helm, and pulled it from his head. Hotohori was shocked again, because his hair, which fell down to frame his face, was a rich gold. Even more was the power Hotohori felt radiating from him. His spirit was stronger than any Hotohori had ever felt. Unbidden, Hotohori reached a hand to his neck, where, yes, he felt the heat of his character, glowing against his skin.

"Your Eminence." The man had a deep, rich voice, like a stream passing over rapids. Hotohori felt himself responding, sitting straighter, bringing his hands to rest at his side instead of holding them folded in his lap.

Despite his captivity, the man treated him with the respect due his station. He knelt when he entered, his head bowed low. Hotohori found himself responding to the simple courtesy. He stood. His hair flowed loose around him, and he had been stripped of his robe, his rank. He wore only a thin shift. It covered him enough for modesty's sake, and provided some protection from the cold. That was all.

Still, with this man kneeling to him, he felt like an emperor, not a prisoner. And he knew who the man was. There could only be one person who matched his description, someone Hotohori had heard a great deal about from his counselors and advisers. "You're Nakago," he said as the man rose. "The Emperor's personal general. And a soldier of the Dragon God."

There was something, he thought, maybe, surprise, on Nakago's face as Hotohori said his name. Perhaps there was a brief flash of pleasure there, too, although it was immediately quashed when Hotohori mentioned the emperor of Kotou.

People assumed too often, because Hotohori had been raised by his advisers, sheltered, that he was naive. But he had come to the business of ruling too young, and he had learned quickly to read the faces of others. Men craved the favor of the emperor. They thought that they could earn his love, and with it, showers of gifts. They sought to gain his ear, and expand their own influence.

He'd learned to be on alert for those men, and always assumed it was the same in every country. Was it wrong of him to assume Nakago was like that? He'd heard too many tales of the general's excessive loyalty to believe otherwise. But the man who stood behind him was not odious or grovelling. His shoulders were set back in his armor, his posture straight, almost challenging. Of course, Hotohori was not his emperor. He was a defeated rival, and therefore of no use to a man who sought power and influence.

"Your men fight on, Your Eminence," Nakago informed him. Hotohori held one hand out, indicating that the soldier should stand. Nakago nodded his head, accepting gracefully. "They have rallied since your capture, and they press us like beasts. Their never ceasing cry is for vengeance. You are much beloved by your people."

It was surprising, after weeks of feeling nearly nothing, how quickly and deeply those words were able to cut him. But Hotohori fixed his face into the mask he wore as ruler, not allowing any of it to show. That his people fought still -- that was good. It was not right that more of them should die, but they were still free. He could not wish for anything more for them, not even peace. "Do you tell me this to try and break my spirit, General?" he asked.

The room they'd kept him in was barren. There was the bed, which was actually nothing more than a pallet of straw tack, made up in the corner. The privy, a bucket that he passed back with his dishes -- and that was all. There was nowhere for him to sit. No mirror he could use to examine himself, or watch the general through, when he turned away. Let Nakago see that even imprisoned, Hotohori didn't fear him.

"I tell you this out of respect," Nakago said. Hotohori was tempted to turn again, so that he could study the general as he spoke, but he knew it was important that he not do so. There was a game afoot here, a power dynamic that had not yet been entirely defined. They held him here, imprisoned, at their mercy. But Nakago would not be here if they could take his country.

"Do you ask me to intercede on your behalf?" Hotohori was uncomfortably aware of how young his voice sounded, compared to Nakago's. Though he did his best to conceal his emotions, he heard how he quavered. He thought Nakago might, as well.

"Your compassion for your people is spoken of even in Kutou," the general said. There was a space between each word, a breath, as if he were taking the time to choose carefully. "It has been thought that if we appealed to you on their behalf, you might be willing to negotiate a peace."

A surrender, that was what he meant. "I came here to negotiate a peace," Hotohori said, and this time the lightness of his tone worked to his advantage. It was almost cutting. "I came here under the flag of truce, to meet with your emperor, and I was kidnapped. My people were killed. Scores of my men have been killed, and now you ask me to give the rest of them over to you?"

"I do not," Nakago said. Hotohori was suddenly glad that he didn't face the warrior, because he knew there was no way for him to disguise the surprise on his face. "My emperor would have me do so, but he does not know I'm here."

This time, it was Hotohori who paused, weighing the value of his response before he gave it. "You are spoken of in Kounan, too, General. They say you are unfailingly loyal to your emperor. That you would step between him and another man's sword, but of all the men who've tried, none could best you."

"That is true," Nakago said. Hotohori turned to him, in a pose he knew looked especially dazzling on him. Dressed as he was now, barely clothed at all, it would show off the delicate line of his frame. His long hair hung straight down his back, emphasizing his youth and his innocence. "It is also untrue," Nakago continued.

Hotohori raised one eyebrow, and the general gestured to the bed. It was ridiculous, being invited to sit in his own jail cell -- but he did, out of curiosity. He wanted to know what had brought the man here, and he was going to learn that fastest by cooperating.

"When did you first learn you were a warrior?" Nakago asked him. Hotohori reached again toward his neck, but dropped his hand quickly, almost as soon as the motion had begun. Nakago laughed, a deep sound, without mirth. "If the strength of your spirit didn't give you away, Eminence, the glow certainly would." Hotohori felt foolish almost instantly; of course it was ridiculous to try and hide it now.

Instead, he drew himself up. "My tutors have told me of my destiny since I first learned to read," he said, with all the dignity he could muster. Nakago's lips twisted briefly.

"I, too, was a boy, when I learned of my destiny. But it was not taught to me by soft-mouthed tutors." Although he didn't elaborate, Hotohori could sense more to it than that. There was a deep grief beneath the general's calm demeanor. A soul wound. "The emperor took me in as a boy, to better control my power. My mother died when I was very young."

"Then we have that in common," Hotohori said, grasping for some way to connect to this man. For whatever reason, he'd been brought here, and this was the first contact he'd had with another person. He would be a fool to waste it.

But he felt like even more of a fool when Nakago smiled at his feeble attempt. "We do," Nakago agreed. "But we have something else in common, too. We've both spent our lives waiting for a priestess to appear. To save our countries. To save us. But your priestess has never come, has she?"

"No," Hotohori said. Surely Nakago knew that already, but he could only agree. He didn't know what else to say.

Nakago leaned forward, his elbows braced against his knees. He was closer to Hotohori than any man had ever stood before, and Hotohori found himself unable to look away. His skin was very pale and smooth, the better to contrast with the shocking blue of his eyes. "Hotohori," Nakago said, addressing him not by his proper name, nor his title. No one had called him by that name before. "Our priestesses aren't coming."

Deep in his heart., Hotohori knew Nakago was right. It was a thought he'd pushed away many times before, but he couldn't avoid it any longer. Not if he wanted to save his country, his people. He set his shoulders, the delicate bow of his lip settling into a straight line. And Nakago saw it.

"I see we understand each other," Nakago said.

The implications of his words made Hotohori sick. When they spoke of Kutou in his country, they spoke of the general, the brilliant strategist. They spoke of his loyalty to the emperor. "What is it you're suggesting?" Hotohori asked.

"You're a very clever man, Hotohori," Nakago said, chuckling. "The rumors don't do you justice. Stand down your armies. Move them away from the border, and in return, I will let you go tonight."

"Even if you let me go, you'll rout my armies. Rape my land. Our border villages will be left defenseless," Hotohori said. It was too large a price to ask, even for his own freedom. He would rather die here than betray his country that way.

But Nakago surprised him again. "You have my word I will not," he said. "My troops will never cross your borders. Our lands will be at peace."

"In return for what?"

"Your support," Nakago's voice dropped to a purr. Hotohori had to lean closer to hear him speak. "The armies of Kutou are loyal to me, not the emperor. But there are always those overburdened with a sense of duty. I will take the capitol, but it will be neater to fight on one front at a time. That is my price: your country surrenders the land you've lost already. And if there is war within the borders of Kutou, you pledge your support. To me."

They were losing the war. Hotohori saw it with every battle. The men of his country fought and died, and inch by inch, their land went to this enemy. They fought to hold on to what was theirs, but the cost of keeping it grew greater with every day. He loved Kounan.

But he was a man of honor. He had been raised to rule justly, to make his life an offering for Suzaku. How would it please the phoenix god to know he'd been complicit in this? He was chosen by Suzaku to rule, as he must assume the Emperor of Kutou had been chosen by Sieryuu. Nakago was charismatic and beautiful, but those qualities did not make him worthy of the throne. Nakago came to Hotohori and offered him freedom, peace for his people, but the cost was regicide.

Hotohori needed to meditate on this decision before he could make a commitment. As he wrestled with it, Nakago stood, his height towering above Hotohori's still-seated form. "I understand that for a man of your principles, this is not an easy decision," Nakago said. There was a gentleness in his tone that seemed at odds with his character; Hotohori looked up in surprise. "I'll leave you to contemplate. You will have until sunset to make your decision, Your Eminence, but after that there will be no more time. My emperor means to kill you at dawn. He will mount your head at the gates to his city, to show your people what their resistance merits." Nakago snapped his cloak behind him, picking up his helm once again, and strode toward the door.

"Wait," Hotohori called, startling them both. "You have not told me your name. Your true name."

Now, it was the general who looked surprised. Hotohori saw it, for a moment, in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. "I was given a name at birth, as you were," he said, his voice low and musical. "But you already know my true name, Hotohori." And then, as suddenly as he'd come to the cell, he was gone.

* * *

The sun rose higher in the sky. Hotohori tracked its progress by the square of light on his cell floor, counting each hour of the day as it passed. The solace that he'd found in meditation eluded him now, as his thoughts chased endlessly at Nakago's words. His freedom. His people's safety.

Rebellion.

This was not what the gods had intended for their warriors, he was sure. This was not the prophecy he'd studied so diligently. But there had been a truth in Nakago's speech that resonated with the truth in Hotohori's heart. The Priestess of Suzaku was an empty dream. She could not stop a war that had already decimated the countryside. She could not bring back the good men who'd died fighting for Kounan.

Every inch of him shrank from Nakago's proposal. It was cold and hideous, honorless, but Hotohori could not think of another course. If he died tomorrow, his people would fight without an heir. They would rally, and defend what remained of the land, but it would not be enough. Slowly, inch by inch, Kutou's armies would tear away at Kounan until nothing remained. He could stop it tonight, with one terrible act.

And after, if his men fought for Kutou, putting an end to the civil war that would tear the country apart when Nakago seized the throne? There was nothing to stop the general from turning his sights on Kounan again. Hotohori could not say that he would not find himself back here in five years, ten, fifteen. He could not trust that Nakago was a man of his word. Not when he conspired to murder the man he owed his allegiance.

But in five years, what might change? Kounan's armies could grow strong again. With five years of peace, her land could thrive, her people flourish. He could have an heir and secure his lineage.

He could betray Nakago. It was not a thought that would have occurred to him before this night. When Kutou devolved into civil war, he could send his men back to the border. Their enemies would kill each other while they reclaimed the land they'd lost. Once he was safe in his palace, Nakago would have no more leverage over him. He could give his word now and disappear, divorcing himself entirely from this evil bargain.

Or, in five years, his priestess might arrive.

Time and again, Hotohori thought he knew his decision. He prayed to for guidance to a silent god, and changed his mind. The tiny rectangle of light reached the far wall of his cell and grew shorter, shorter, until it disappeared entirely. Dusk came, then sunset proper, and Nakago did not come.

Perhaps it was for the best that he never gave his answer. At least, at sunrise, he could go to his death with dignity, and know he died an honorable man. And yet he found himself lost in the conversation, replaying it, again and again. It was not Nakago's great beauty, or his charisma, that drew Hotohori back. It was those fleeting moments of vulnerability when he spoke about his mother. His priestess.

A roar went up in the camp, sometime in the long hours after midnight. The nights had been peaceful until now, and Hotohori, unable to sleep, made his way to the door. He heard the sound of ringing steel, and the shouts of men. Footsteps coming closer. He moved away from the door a second before it opened.

Nakago stood there, his sword out. In the moonlight, the blood dripping from it looked dark, almost black, and slick as oil. Hotohori curled his fists closed and braced himself for a blow that never came.

"Your men are less than a league out," Nakago told him. "On a horse, you could be with them in under an hour's time."

"I do not have a horse," Hotohori said evenly, much calmer than he felt. It was as if the world had begun moving slower than his mind. He could not give voice to all the questions; they came in a flash and disappeared just as quickly.

Nakago snapped with impatience, "The picket string's been cut. They're running free, take one. The camp's in chaos."

Perhaps, but the assault had come from within. Hotohori was not foolish enough not to see it. His men were still a good distance away. Why let him out now, when they could hold him for at least another few hours? Even if it was chaos in the ranks, one man with a sword could finish the job set for sunrise.

Hotohori didn't move from his cell. Nakago snapped, "Go," with a fierce urgency in his voice, and at once it was as if the world and his thoughts began moving in synchronicity once more.

"You're letting me go," he said, more of a statement than a question. "I haven't given you my answer."

It was the second time he'd managed to surprise his enemy. Although the expression was suppressed quickly, Hotohori saw it, and he felt the warmth of satisfaction at the base of his spine. Nakago moved on quickly, seeming pleased as he smiled. "There isn't time now," the general said. "You'll have to find me again."

Hotohori met his eyes then. This time, he didn't flinch from them, even though the blue seemed to pierce him. No man had ever looked him in the eyes before. He was the emperor of Kounan. No man would dare.

The sound of steel on steel brought the moment to an end. Hotohori could not think of anything to say that was clever enough, and so he said only, "Perhaps." It was enough. He saw Nakago smile for only a second, and he felt Nakago's eyes on him as he left the cell. He found a horse -- the poor beast was spooked by the scents in the camp, but easy enough to catch and calm. Hotohori did not look back. He disappeared into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> To my giftee, inner_v0ice: 
> 
> I hope this fic fulfills everything you were looking for in your prompt! Obviously, I was intrigued by some of the scenarios you set forth in your request (POW fic, alternate universe where the mikos weren't present.) I wanted to try and find a way to bring something new to your pairing, which is why I tried to extend the AU to encompass changes in their characters as well as the environment. Hotohori in particular is a lot harder here than he is in canon, at least to my reading. 
> 
> I wanted to leave the exact relationship and the ending open for interpretation, especially with regard to how much Nakago feels for Hotohori, and how much of this is just manipulation. I know it's not the most blatant of ship!fics, but I definitely didn't want to give you a piece that was wholly gen, either, so hopefully some of that came through in your reading. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed your fic. Happy yuletide!


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